


Smoke and Mirrors

by eringiles



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode: s04e06 The Carnival Job, Gen, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringiles/pseuds/eringiles
Summary: When he confronts himself in the mirror of Nate’s bathroom he understands a little bit more why Sophie keeps checking in on him. He looks a state. Blood has crusted beneath his nose and in his hair. His eyes are half lidded, trying to keep the light away from where the concussion is beating out a merry drum against the inside of his skull.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 140





	Smoke and Mirrors

Eliot didn’t even stop as the rest of the team turned to look at Daria and her stalled car. He was struggling to keep himself upright as he took the path of least resistance towards Lucille.

Right foot.

Left foot.

He swung his arms as much as his injuries would allow to try and keep the momentum going. He could sense Sophie just behind his left shoulder, but he wouldn’t let himself falter. His steps were more halting but the van was only a few yards away. He could make it. Just over the grass verge.

He staggered over the kerb and somehow kept going.

He wanted to call shotgun, because he didn’t think he could twist into the back of the van at the moment, but the door was all the way round the other side of the van. Nate was sliding the back door open for him and he braced his good hand against the frame, pausing with one foot on the bottom step as he tried to find the momentum to pull himself up into the van. He was grateful that Nate didn’t move to help him.

He stumbled towards the nearest seat and half collapsed into it, taking deep shuddering breaths as he struggled to stay conscious. He could feel himself slipping further down the seat of the van as he started to tilt sideways into the door, his head lolling towards the window as he struggled to keep his eyes open now he was sitting down.

‘Eliot?’

He felt like all eyes in the van were on him as he tried to find the strength to open his eyes from their half-lidded position. He realised it must not have been the first time someone had said his name, because someone was touching his arm, trying to get his attention.

‘Eliot, do you need us to take you to a hospital?’

He could smell jasmine. Sophie.

‘’m fine.’

There was a pause before the van turned over and started moving, making Eliot feel like his nerve endings were on fire as they drove out of the parking lot. He let his head fall back against the headrest and tried to think of anything but the pain coursing through him in waves as they made their way back to the bar.

He struggled with his seatbelt when the van stopped, only realising that someone must have done it up for him while he was trying to breathe through the pain. He fumbled with the clip with his trembling good hand before nimble fingers dived in under his and with a clink clunk he was free.

Sitting still had been a horrific idea. Moving even more so. It took a painful amount of energy to move from the van into the bar. For a brief moment he wished they’d dropped him back off at his apartment, but then he realised there were even more steps there than there was here.

‘Eliot.’

It took him far too long to realise where he was. Much longer than it took for all the pain to come flooding back to him, so quickly his breath hitched. Sophie was touching his forearm again to try and get his attention. Condensation from the bag of ice that was draped over his wrist and knuckles was starting to seep into the right leg of his pants where his arm rested.

‘Eliot?’

His name’s a question now, meaning it deserves an answer, but he’ll be damned if he knew what Sophie was asking of him. There’s a flash of red and again that too long pause while he tried to figure out what was happening.

‘s fine. I got it.’

He grabbed for the first aid kit and struggled to his feet, taking a moment to orientate himself in Nate’s flat before he stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

When he confronts himself in the mirror of Nate’s bathroom he understands a little bit more why Sophie keeps checking in on him. He looks a state. Blood has crusted beneath his nose and in his hair. His eyes are half lidded, trying to keep the light away from where the concussion is beating out a merry drum against the inside of his skull. He’s barely got the first aid kit open on the side of the counter before there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

‘Sophie, I’m fine.’ He snarls through the door. He’s surprised though when Parker’s head appears round the side of the bathroom door.

‘Not Sophie.’ The rest of Parker follows in behind and shuts the door, blocking Eliot’s way of escape from this situation. ‘I know you like to be all macho and do this stuff on your own, but I thought you could use a hand.’

‘Parker, I’m fine, okay. I got this.’ Eliot makes a swipe for the first aid kit to try and prove his point but he misses by what feels like a mile and almost over balances, making a wild grab for something to hang onto and ending up with a fistful of Parker’s shirt.

‘Yup, you definitely seem like you’ve got this.’ Parker has a hand under Eliot’s left elbow to try and keep him on his feet as she kicks the toilet seat closed. Eliot doesn’t realise he’s being guided into a seated position before it’s too late.

He closes his eyes as he tries to find some equilibrium in the world. He hears the zip on the first aid kit and resigns himself to the fact Parker is helping him with this whether he wants her to or not. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels Parker tipping his chin up and starting to wipe the blood from the side of Eliot’s face and nose. He supposes he’s just grateful she’s not poking him for once. There’s silence between them for a moment while she works on cleaning up his face.

‘You know you’re not supposed to use your head to hit the bad guys, right?’

She’s teasing him, which is just her way of coping with situations, so he lets her.

‘That right, huh?’

‘Think you’re supposed to use your fists.’ He blinks a couple of times as he watches her shadow boxing in the mirror while he tries to flex his right hand, gritting his teeth against the pain.

‘Think I did that too.’ He huffs out a laugh as she starts inspecting his knuckles and he bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out when she starts picking glass from them.

He watches with morbid fascination as she stitches some of the bigger lacerations before wrapping his hand and wrist. He’s not even sure how she knows he’s sprained his wrist and he doesn’t bother to ask.

‘You know what I learnt the other day? It’s a myth.’

Eliot thinks for a moment that he must have drifted off while she was working. His eyes are definitely closed again and she seems to be packing up the first aid kit.

‘What is?’

‘That you’ll fall into a coma if you sleep with a concussion. Unless you have like a massive brain bleed, then you’ll probably die. But apparently sleeping is good for you if you’re concussed.’

‘That so?’ Eliot asks, as he pulls himself to his feet with the help of the counter. Parker doesn’t answer, is already opening the bathroom door and disappearing out into the rest of the apartment. Eliot wants to call her back, because now he’s standing, he’s not sure he can carry his own weight. He knows what she’s implying with her words. That he should rest up. But home seems impossibly far away, and the thought of him sleeping on Nate’s couch, while the rest of the team hover makes his skin crawl.

He makes it to the doorframe of the bathroom where he can see Hardison eyeing him up from the couch. Granted, Hardison is a little fuzzy around the edges so he can’t visually confirm that Hardison is looking at him, but he can feel eyes on him. Although, that could also be coming from Sophie or Nate who are trying to be nonchalant in the kitchen.

He doesn’t have the patience for this right now, never mind the energy. The chasm between him and the couch seems infinite at this moment in time, so he just stares at it, hoping somehow through the passage of time, tectonic plates will shift enough that the sofa will move closer.

‘Hey, man. You need a hand?’

The couch may not have moved closer, but Hardison has. He doesn’t reach out automatically for Eliot, not yet. They all know that Eliot has to be the one to make the first move. So Hardison waits patiently. It takes a while, mainly because Eliot’s thoughts are fragmented, but he eventually grabs onto Hardison’s shoulder. With permission granted, Hardison throws am arm round Eliot’s back and helps him limp somewhat haltingly towards the couch.

Sitting down hurts almost as much as standing, but Eliot’s head is spinning now so he pitches sideways into the cushions. His less than graceful collapse is accompanied by a low ‘whoa’ from Hardison, but he doesn’t care. He takes back the thoughts about his skin crawling if the team decide to watch him sleep, because at that moment in time he couldn’t give a damn.

He feels fingers tugging on the laces of his boots. A hand is lifting up his head to slide a pillow beneath it. Ice finds its way onto his knee and wrist. And the sigh that escapes his lips as a bag of ice is placed gently on the right side of his face comes of its own volition.

There’s a voice at the back of his head telling him that he’s supposed to be the one taking care of them, but that goes quiet with the rest of the world as he tilts sideways into sleep.

It’s Nate that greets him what could be several hours or even several minutes later. He’s holding out a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. The ice has gone from his person, but the numbness lingers.

‘How you feelin’?’

‘Like I got hit by a merry-go-round.’ Eliot grouses, throwing back the asprin and the water.

Nate nods as he sits down on the armchair next to Eliot.

‘Connell called while you were out.’ Nate says, watching as Eliot carefully pulls himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs off the side of the sofa.

‘Molly wanted to speak to you.’

‘Yeah?’ Eliot asks, flexing the fingers on his right hand.

‘Think she wanted to thank you.’

‘Just doing my job.’ Eliot says, looking down into the bottom of the empty glass of water. Nate nods but doesn’t say anything. He lets the silence drag on for a moment, watching as the Hitter mulls things over. Nate knows Eliot isn’t stupid – far from it – and he knows he doesn’t need a thank you to make this all worthwhile. Seeing Molly back in her father’s arms is praise enough for Eliot.

‘The others are downstairs in the bar if you want to join us. Thorne is coming to pick up his chip.’

‘Alright if I take a shower, first?’

‘Course.’ Nate pulls himself to his feet. ‘Good work today, Eliot.’ He says softly before leaving the apartment. Eliot takes a moment, his arms resting on his knees as he lets his head hang between his shoulder blades. He aches with a bone deep weariness that he knows it’ll take him at least a couple of days to shift. He hopes Nate isn’t already downstairs finding them a new client.

He takes a deep breath before he hauls himself to his feet with the help of the couch, the coffee table and anything else that’s in reaching distance right now.

Left foot.

Right foot.

He strips his shirt off when he reaches the bathroom and lifts his vest over his head with some difficulty. He sweeps his hair back out of his eyes and catches sight of himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face now are livid.

_I don’t like what I see._

There were some days where Eliot can relate. But today, even with his face a mismatch of colours, his eyes slightly unfocused with the concussion, isn’t one of those days.


End file.
